My sister and I sat by the creek at my parents house and smoked. No one else was home and wouldn’t be back for a few hours, so it was the perfect start for the night. After the effects started to set in, we walked back to the house and I decided to start some laundry. I removed the clothes from the washing machine and after sniffing the pants that I pissed the night before, I decided to send them into the wash a second time. (The night before I was at my boyfriend’s parents house and we were up until 5am drinking, and I woke up at 9:30 to discover that I had peed my pants. This was a tricky situation, for one there was the obvious embarrassment factor. As I sat there in a drunken panicked stupor I could hear his mom, Roxanne, in the kitchen getting coffee. I ran downstairs to use the bathroom to conclude I had indeed pissed my pants. On a side note, I had on really dark jeans so luckily no one could tell that my bladder had not made it through the night. I went back upstairs, and Roxanne offered me a lift home, since my boyfriend, Atticus, was still in a coma from the night’s previous partying. This was one of the most tense car rides I’d ever been on. I was dripping an alcohol loaded sweat, and not paying attention to anything Roxeanne was saying. I was just praying she didn’t catch a wiff of the pee-pants. Thank god for the warm weather, because the windows were down, and Roxanne had fish fries the night before and the car smelled like fish, rather than urine. And that is why I had to wash my jeans twice).
I’ve only peed my pants one other time (while drunk, in childhood who knows, I wasn’t called Rubber Sheets McPeepants up until 8th grade for no reason [joke]). That one other time was the night before the day before I started sophomore year of high school. A few of my friends and I had siphoned some liquor from her parents liquor cabinet, which was literally three industrialsized shelves that took up a quarter of her basement. I always thought they just had that much booze because they were rich, but in retrospect, I think it was because they were rich alcoholics. Anyway, we would take a water bottle and just put a mixture of liquor in it. We didn’t want to have an obvious decrease in the bottles. So I think my bottle contained a liquid cornucopia of gin, vodka, sangria, champagne and god only knows what else, possibly some paint thinner. I probably had a third of it filled up. We were hanging out in the basement listening to Spice Girls and getting loaded, like the cool kids we were, when my one friend left to go pick someone else up. I sat in the basement with another friend, Melissa, and looked at her and said “So, do you think I should just finish the rest of this water bottle before they get back?” To which Melissa replied immediately “Yes”. To which I then stupidly did. Needless to say I blacked out the rest of the night, woke up the next morning laying face down on the basement floor, my pants soaking wet, a vomit filled garbage can tipped over next to my head, and my friends all glaring at me because I had broken a lamp and drew all over the walls in red lipstick.
Now I don’t want to give off the impression that I’m some reckless, raging, drunkard. Sure I’ve had my fair share of blacked out nights, and troublesome moments but I like to think it’s just a part of growing up and a learning process for some people. I have a good life. Nothing to really complain about. I have a college degree that has landed me the dreadfully boring and lame job I’m at now. Administrative Assistant, a.k.a. File Clerk/Bookkeeper, Corporate Slave. I’m in a department that has nothing to do with what I went to school for, but that’s another postt: Communications Degree.
